


Hunted

by TheCookieOfDoom



Category: American Assassin (2017), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Mitch Rapp, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Feral Behavior, Full Shift Werewolves, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mating Run, Omega Stiles Stilinski, On the Run, Porn With Plot, Scent Marking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-13 07:24:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18936175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCookieOfDoom/pseuds/TheCookieOfDoom
Summary: Summary: Stiles is an omega who wants a different life than the one society has planned for him. He doesn't want to mate an alpha he doesn't know, who will keep him naked and pregnant in the kitchen where he belongs, who won't let him see his father or his friends. But there is no way to escape the mating run, and no omega comes out of it unscathed or unclaimed. Stiles is determined to beat the odds, however, and with the help of a feral wolf he manages to evade capture. At first.





	Hunted

**Author's Note:**

> Tfw you try to write some quick smut because your nano is giving you trouble, and then it ends up with 10k of plot instead. That is essentially what happened here, this fic entirely derailed my original nanowrimo idea.

Something was hunting him. Stiles caught glimpses of the shadow moving just out of sight, stalking him through the trees. It moved with an eerie silence, like a whisper over the loamy forest floor. The one night Stiles risked a fire, he could have sworn he saw the flame reflected in a pair of eyes like burning coals, just out of the light's reach. He hadn't slept that night, on guard, waiting for it to attack. 

There have been alphas, too, all but frothing at the mouth and angry at how hard Stiles was making the chase. Their fury burned hot, like hellfire licking at Stiles' heels, and he would sooner kill himself than allow any of them to mate him, keep him like some prize. Mounted on the ground like a hunting trophy was mounted on the wall.

One alpha in particular delighted in tormenting Stiles. He was making it a game, herding him through the forest away from where the others were concentrated. That way when he finally corned Stiles, there would be no one to hear him scream.

"Sti-les," the alpha called in his sticky-sweet sing-song voice. He was on the ground, walking slowly, like he had all the time in the world. "Come down, pet, I promise I won't bite.” A low huff. “Not until you beg for it," he amended. Stiles could see the gleam of his teeth even from his height.

With nowhere to go, unable to outrun the alpha after spraining his ankle on a root, Stiles had treed himself. He was lithe, able to spider his way up into the pine before the alpha caught up to him, rough bark tearing at his skin, thick sap stinging in the wounds. The scent of his blood was thick, only egging the alpha on as it drip-dropped onto the ground. Stiles was thankful for his omegan status only because it allowed him to get to the highest part of the pine. It swayed dangerously under his weight if he moved too much, but an alpha would never be able to reach him up here.

"I'm growing bored, omega. You won't like the consequences if you make me wait much longer."

Stiles looked down again, and it made his stomach flip with unease. The wind kicked up, making the tree sway harder. Stiles clenched his eyes shut and wrapped his arms around the center of the tree, hiding his face against the bark, heedless of the tacky sap sticking his eyes together, clumping in his lashes.

He didn’t look again until he heard shouting and vicious growls. When he did, he saw his shadow on the ground, rending the alpha's flesh with tooth and claw. The wind carried the scent of his blood, and it made Stiles choke.

The shadow moved too fast for Stiles to clearly make out in the dark, but it’s big. Almost as big as the alpha, who slashed ineffectually with his own claws, roaring in anger. The creature was too fast, evading him. Eventually the alpha gave in with a final roar that shook the trees and made Stiles cling harder. He knew the alpha would be back for him once he healed, but he would at least have a few days to run.

The creature stood fierce and proud on the ground and howled it's haunting victory. It chilled Stiles to the bone, and he didn't climb down from the tree until long after it stalked off.

***

Stiles bit through his tongue to stop the scream as his foot fell through the earth mid-stride. The snap of bone breaking rang out through the clearing, and even without looking he knew his bone was pressing through the delicate skin of his shin.

Shaking, his breath coming in short pants as he tried to breathe through the agony, Stiles reached down to feel the wound. He cried out when he tried to move the leg, a strangled warble that he buried in the meat of his shoulder, teeth sinking into his flesh. The alpha was on his trail, he knew; his scream and the scent of his blood would lead the man to him soon, and this time there would be no escape.

Even still, Stiles scrabbled at the ground with trembling hands, trying desperately to dig away the dirt and free himself, to crawl away, to go down fighting until the very end.

Stiles sobbed when he heard movement, clawing at the ground. Tears blurred his vision until he couldn't see, but he froze when he heard the growl, low and resonating within him. He felt acrid breath on his face, warm and wet, and knew it wasn't the alpha.

"No, no," Stiles wept, flinching away from the other monster that has hunted him through the forest; his shadow.

The wolf towered above him, and Stiles had nowhere to go, cowering on the forest floor beneath it. He closed his eyes so that he wouldn't have to see it's maw before it closed over his throat, thoughts turning to his father. The run would end in a week; he would be devastated when Stiles didn't return among the other mated, a feast for carrion. His father would never even find his body, would never get closure.

He was delirious from the pain, the blood, the  _ heat.  _ He sniffled pitifully, breathing in harsh sobs against the ground that coated his throat in dirt. He could hear the wolf moving, circling him, massive paws rasping through the underbrush. It pawed at his broken leg and he gave a strangled scream, body contorting in an effort to escape, but it only made his bone drag against the top of whatever tunnel it was stuck in, caught on a sturdy root. Dirt rained down into the wound, gritting against bone.

"Stop," Stiles begged, trying to swat weakly at the wolf, wishing it would just stop  _ playing  _ with him. If it was going to kill him, he would rather get it over with and not prolong his suffering.

Except the wolf made a noise, one he didn’t recognize at first, but something he soon came to understand as being a kind of… whine, gentle and high pitched. It bent down to nudge Stiles’ leg gently with the wet tip of its nose, a cold shock against Stiles' heated skin.

The wolf growled at nothing, and Stiles knew he was caught. The alpha had found him, finally. Would be upon him in minutes, and he had nowhere to go. Then it started digging at the rabbit hole trapping his leg. Stiles writhed on his stomach, dirt caked under his nails as he raked at the dirt.

As soon as his leg was free Stiles pulled himself away and the wolf whined again, circling him. It nosed at his face, dragging its rough tongue over his cheeks to lick away the salt of his tears, and Stiles didn't know what it  _ wanted.  _ He didn't understand why this beast was playing with him, the same way the alpha had. He didn’t know which was worse.

The wolf got onto its belly, head pillowed on its paws, and stared into Stiles' eyes. Stiles didn't dare look away, until he heard branches breaking under heavy footfalls. The wolf got up and ran in that direction, growling fiercely, and Stiles resumed his futile attempt at escaping until once again the wolf came to him, dancing agitatedly.

"What do you want from me?" Stiles asked, his words slurring as the state of his body finally caught up with him, the adrenaline wearing thin. The wolf snapped its teeth together, making him flinch, before it pushed at him with its muzzle. It shimmied under his outstretched arms, until they were wrapped around its neck in a facsimile of a hug.

Stiles almost laughed as the wolf got onto it's belly again, keening insistently. It was insane, but Stiles knew what to expect from the alpha crashing into the clearing, and this time he didn't want the devil he knew. With a struggle, he got his uninjured leg over the wolf's back and tightened his arms around it's thick neck. The alpha's outraged roar followed them as the wolf took off into the forest with Stiles clinging to it, face buried in it's fur.

***

He didn't know where the wolf was taking him as the miles fell away, soaring under the beast’s paws. Couldn't bring himself to care as the blood loss slowly weakened him, leaving a trail of crimson in his wake. It would be easy for the alpha to follow. He would never be safe, the wolf was only buying him a little extra time. Provided it didn't eat him first.

"I'm sorry, dad," Stiles slurred pointlessly against the wolf's neck, his hold starting to slip. When it leapt over a fallen tree Stiles fell to the side, landing draped over the mossy trunk. He whimpered, not having the energy to scream.

The wolf didn't leave him, skidding in the loam before turning back for Stiles, barking at him. It jumped onto the tree beside him, surprisingly nimble for such a large creature, pawing and pushing at Stiles to make him get up, but he couldn't. He was so weak, all he wanted was to curl up and cry and wait for it all to be over. His shadow refused to let him, growling viciously right in his face, teeth locked mere inches away. Spittle stuck to his skin, and all Stiles did was turn his face away with a quiet groan.

When intimidation didn't work, the wolf hopped off the tree. Stiles thought it was going to finally leave him in peace to bleed out before the alpha came, until he felt sharp teeth locking around his bicep, digging into his flesh. The wolf growled and dragged him from the tree, remnants of branches scratching his bare skin like tissue paper.

"Stop!" Stiles cried, only making the wolf growl louder; canines vibrated around his arm with the force of it. He was weak as a kitten, unable to struggle as it dragged him across the ground, determined to get him to wherever it was taking him.  _ Probably it's den,  _ Stiles' mind morbidly supplied.

Stiles' mind drifted, no longer caring about the way rocks and twigs bit at his skin, leaving it chafed and raw and bleeding. Distantly, he heard the babbling of a stream, and it soothed him. He could forget about the pain in his body, the heat, the hunger, and just listen to the stream and the birds, the sound of nature calming him.

Until he was forced into the frigid water of the stream, gasping and sputtering at the sudden shock. The wolf released him with a short growl, pawing at his chest. Its teeth were bared and its ears pinned back, hostile. Or maybe frustrated, the way a human would be with Stiles' obstinance.

"Are you trying to drown me?" Stiles choked out. The wolf growled again and walked past him, wading deeper into the water. It turned to look back at Stiles and jerked its head at the other bank, indicating he should follow. Shoulder still aching, blood sluggishly trickling down his arm, Stiles decided to comply.

Moving through the water was easier. He didn't have to put any weight on his uninjured leg as he crawled across smooth river rocks, swimming when he got to the deepest part. The wolf was waiting for him on the other side by the time he reached it, watching, and got down on the ground for Stiles to climb onto it's back again.

The cold water shocked the heat out of him, at least for now, so the warmth of the wolf's body was a blessing. He shivered, wrapping his arms around its neck and burying his numb fingers into the dry undercoat. The wolf made a soft, pleased sound, and Stiles smiled against its fur. He nuzzled the wolf, squeezing it in a hug as it loped off.

Stiles figured they must have lost the alpha, if the way the wolf moved was any indication. It ran, but not the fevered pace it had before, more leisurely. Stiles sighed, his breaths making puffs of steam in the air as the temperature dropped, night quickly falling. February in Northern California was unforgiving, and unlike the others in the run, Stiles didn't have friends or companions to keep him warm with fires and sex. He only had his heat and his wolf.

***

Night had fallen long before they reached the wolf's den, Stiles shivering and naked atop it's back. The wind had dried him, saving him from hypothermia, but also froze him to his core. His body hurt, bones creaking like icicles. The wolf took him to the back of the cave and let him down. It was clean and dry, but there was nothing to keep Stiles warm, and he couldn't go hunt for wood to build a fire.

Stiles curled up on himself to preserve warmth, shivering. The wolf whined softly and pushed him with it's muzzle until Stiles was lying on his back, his injured leg stretched out of the way. It carefully laid down on Stiles, warm belly against his, and started licking his fingers that were still curled against his chest. Stiles watched, mildly grossed out, but let the wolf continue until his fingers were tingly with feeling again.

It moved on next to the crook of his elbow, moving from one arm to the next, and then up to his face. Stiles was still filthy despite his sudden dip in the stream, mud clinging stubbornly to the sap and blood on his face. The wolf licked him clean, warming him with hot whuffs of breath over his face.

Stiles curled his arms around the wolf, burying his saliva-sticky face in it's fur and breathing in the musky scent of it, greedily soaking up it's warmth. It tucked its face against his neck with a plaintive sound, not quite a whine.

"Thank you," Stiles whispered to the wolf that saved his life.

***

In the morning, Stiles woke to excruciating pain. Looking down he saw that the wolf was lapping softly at the congealed blood around his broken leg, trying to clean the dirt and grime from the wound. The wolf looked up at him, didn't stop as Stiles bit the heel of his hand to keep himself quiet, not wanting to attract any unwanted attention from the alpha who was no doubt hunting him still.

Stiles didn't even know if he was still in the sectioned off mating grounds. He'd never traveled so far into the Preserve, and he doubted any other omega had either, fearful of the wild beasts that lurked among the trees, bears and wolves.

"My dad is going to find me," Stiles told himself when tears threatened to spill, realizing just how lost he was. He didn't know where he was, and his father wouldn't know where to begin to start looking for him.

The wolf keened when Stiles started crying, shuffling up to lick his face, foamy saliva leaving rusty streaks on his cheeks.

"It's okay," Stiles said, not knowing which one of them he was trying to reassure as he wrapped his arms around the whining wolf. "It's gonna be okay, right? The run will end in a week and then my dad will find me, and I'll get to go home and stay with him instead of being taken away to live with some stupid alpha." All he had to do was survive the next few days. Should be easy.

***

Wolf saliva could only go so far, and Stiles was concerned about the state of his leg with his shadow slobbering all over it. God knows what has been in the creature's mouth. But when Stiles tried to leave the cave, the wolf wouldn't let him.

"I need to clean my leg before it gets infected," Stiles said, trying not to look at the offending limb. The bone was still protruding from his savaged skin, a sickening sight. He felt faint every time he saw it. But his wolf was stubborn, adamant that Stiles stay right where he was, pacing and growling until Stiles slunk away from the entrance, carefully limping to the back of the cave with his arms braced on the wall to keep from falling.

"Damn mangy mutt," he groused. The wolf slid up behind him and nipped the back of his thigh, making Stiles squawk in surprised indignation. "I am not a chew toy!" 

He sat down on the ground, by now not caring about the dirt sticking to his bare ass, and the large wolf curled up around him to keep him in place, warm against his side.

***

On the third day, the wolf let Stiles out of the cave. The threat of the alpha finding them must have passed. The wolf got down on the ground for Stiles to mount it's back, and took him out into the trees. Stiles scavenged for two sturdy tree branches to serve as a makeshift splint, breaking them down to size, and a third he could use as a cane for now. After, he followed the sounds of the stream until he came across it's bank, his free hand tangled in the wolf's fur to maintain his balance. Together they limped down to the water, Stiles gingerly wading in.

The stream was just as frigid as it had been before, goosebumps rising across his body at the cold shock. At least the sun was shining, warming Stiles' skin somewhat even as he could see the soft puffs of his and the wolf's breaths.

Gingerly, Stiles cleaned around his wound, the wolf watching him from the bank, guarding him, eyes constantly searching for threats that may befall the omega.

It was a slow process. Every time Stiles' touch came near the protruding bone he had to stifle a scream, savaging his tongue with his teeth until his mouth filled with blood. The wolf made a soft howl at the coppery scent, pacing along the water. Stiles swallowed thickly, panting from his ministrations.

"It's okay," he said to the wolf through gritted teeth.

By the time he finished, his leg was leaking blood again, staining the clear water of the stream in thin ribbons. The dirt had served to stop the bleeding for a time, probably the only thing that saved his life. That, and the natural clotting agents in his wolf's saliva.

Stiles limped back to the bank, sitting down with his ankle positioned between two heavy rocks. The wolf came to sit at his side, and Stiles pet it's head, scratching behind one ear.

"You did good," he praised, then gave the wolf a gentle shove. "I don't think you'll want to see this part."

And then Stiles put a branch between his teeth, closed his eyes, and wrenched his leg between the rocks.

The branch did little to muffle Stiles' scream, but his wolf's howl drowned it out, sending birds into flight all around them at the cry of a predator. Stiles' bones scraped together, receding back into his skin with a wet  _ schluck _ , leaving a ragged hole in his skin in its wake. Fresh blood ran anew down Stiles' leg, hot and dizzying. Stiles had nothing to staunch the flow, no clothes he could tear into bandages.

He was shaking as he aligned his wooden branches on either side of his leg, winding long reeds around them to hold them in place. It would have to serve for now.

The wolf was pacing up and down the riverbank, agitated. Stiles could relate, wrapping his trembling hands around the wound and applying as much pressure as he could stand, waiting for the flow to lessen. Once it did, he picked up handfuls of clean mud and packed it over the wound. As it dried, hopefully it would work as an effective bandage.

Stiles struggled his way to his feet, using his makeshift walking stick to support himself, the wolf flocking to his other side to help with balance. Stiles gave it a weak, grateful smile, tugging lightly on his scruff.

"Let's go home," he rasped, his throat raw.

The wolf didn't lead him back to the same cave, though, and Stiles didn't know the terrain well enough to realize that fact until they had been walking for longer than he thought they should.

"Where are we going?" Stiles asked eventually, looking around them. The trees were thicker here, the forest wilder, reaching into the sky. The canopy was thick with pine needles, the evergreens green and sharp despite the cold season. They were just as harsh as the February winter.

Sometimes, Stiles thought he saw glimpse of the mountain range that the forest backed up onto. Part of the Pacific Crest Trail ran through it. The thought made his stomach sink; he had to be dozens of miles outside of Beacon Hills if he was right, his dad would never be able to find him. But maybe a hiker would.

For a brief moment, that sounded like the greatest stroke of luck Stiles could wish for. Until he felt his stomach cramp with another oncoming cycle of heat, and he realized being found by a hiker was the worst thing that could happen to him.

Thankfully, they didn't have much farther to go before the wolf stopped him. Stiles could feel slick leaking down his thighs for the last half hour of the walk, and was grateful to be herded into the cave, collapsing onto a soft bed of leaves and moss. He tossed his stick aside carelessly, curling onto his uninjured side with a groan.

Going through heat alone  _ hurt,  _ pain lancing through his abdomen as need surged through him. But there was no alpha to tend to him, no pheromones to calm the raging blaze of heat, to lessen the strain. Forced to let nature run its course alone, Stiles' body revolted, making him pay for his decision to not let an alpha claim him. But no matter how much it hurt, Stiles couldn't regret his choice. Better to suffer alone through the season than to give up his freedom for a temporary release.

As if sensing his discomfort, the wolf came forward, licking at Stiles' face. He hadn't even realized he was crying, until the wolf whined. Stiles sniffled and offered the wolf a tired smile, weakly patting its muzzle.

"I'm okay," he mumbled, pulling at the wolf's fur until it laid down beside him. He pulled the wolf over top of him like a blanket, sighing into his warmth. It helped somewhat, the wolf's musky scent blocking out the desperate loneliness clawing at Stiles from the inside. "At least I have you, big guy."

The wolf howled softly as if in agreement, tucking its large head against Stiles' neck and stretching out to cover as much of him as possible. Its weight was heavy on Stiles but welcoming, comforting. Like a weighted, heated blanket. Despite the midday sunlight streaming in through the mouth of the cave, Stiles was asleep seemingly between one breath and the next.

***

Stiles woke alone. He tried not to be disappointed, but the heat had him anxiously waiting for the wolf's return, feeling vulnerable despite the relative safety of the cave. He didn't have to wait long before the wolf came trotting through the mouth of the cave, and Stiles couldn't help but laugh. His shadow looked ridiculous, mouth pulled back to show the many branches it carried between its teeth, eyes squinted against the twigs and leaves trying to blind it. The wolf presented the branches to Stiles, dropping them in front of him before sitting back proudly.

"Good wolf," Stiles cooed. The branches were heavy with overripe berries. Stiles picked a handful and moaned when they burst in his mouth, the juices overflowing down his chin. He was starving, after days of being on the run, and then too injured to forage for himself. The berries were a blessing, sticky and sweet on his tongue, the juices staining his skin.

The wolf howled, panting a smile at Stiles, watching as he ate his handful of berries and then helpfully nudging another laden branch towards him.

"You're taking very good care of me," Stiles praised once half the berries were eaten, setting aside the rest for later. He felt full and content for the first time since the run began, one emptiness now taken care of. He hungered less for an alpha's knot now that he was fed, stretching out on his side with a pleased hum. Perhaps riding out his heat here wouldn't be so bad after all, with his canid companion.

After making sure Stiles was taken care of, the wolf took off again to hunt its own breakfast, coming back with two rabbits between its teeth. It didn't want to leave Stiles alone for too long, unprotected.

Sighing, Stiles reached out to stroke his wolf's back as it tore into the rabbits. "Poor Thumper," he said solemnly as blood coated the wolf's black maw. It looked up at him and licked it's muzzle, before baring its teeth at Stiles in a bloody grin that made him laugh. The wolf was too intelligent for his own good.

"I wish alphas were like you," Stiles said after a while, his hands buried in the wolf's fur. It was surprisingly soft, cleaner than he would expect from a wild creature. Stiles liked petting him. "Maybe then I would want a mate." The wolf took better care of Stiles than anyone else had since his mother died.

The thought soured Stiles' usually-sweet scent with melancholy, making the wolf whine. It dropped its head on his chest with a thump, ears down as it looked up with him with its big, earnest eyes. The colors were the strangest Stiles had ever seen on an animal, with hints of garnet that glowed in firelight. Not the bright red of an alpha, but not unlike it, either. If his wolf was human, it would definitely be an alpha, and not only because of the color of its eyes.

"Don't worry, I'm okay," Stiles soothed, petting between the wolf's ears. "I just miss my mom is all." Stiles sighed, looking out at the cave's entrance, seeing the sunlight filter through the trees. "She died when I was a kid."

Stiles looked down at the wolf, and thought it would be easier if he was like it. A wild creature living life day by day, unhaunted by the deaths of his loved ones. Or maybe wolves felt that pain too, for all he knew.  The wolf could have memories of those it's loved and loss, just like Stiles.

Before long, the wolf was getting up and pushing at Stiles, refusing to let him wallow in his melancholy. Stiles let it, picking up his walking stick and leaving the cave at the wolf's urging. He didn't want to go far, never knowing when another heat cycle would come on, but a short walk could only do him good.

It was easier, with his leg supported. Still in pain, swollen and bruised and ugly under the mud, but manageable. Stiles could put it out of his mind if he focused on other things, like the throbbing indentations of teeth around his right bicep from where the wolf had dragged him into the river.

The wolf led him to the river now, splashing into the water until it was deep enough to cover his back. He turned to look at Stiles and shook, sending water everywhere. Smiling, Stiles followed the wolf in, staying in the shallows where the water was moderately warmer. He sat down, the round river rocks hewn smooth underneath him.

Stiles knew he was filthy, caked in dirt even after his dip in the water the night before. He laid back in the water, shivering as he sluiced it over his chest, then grabbed fistfuls of silt from the riverbed to scrub at his skin. Already he was numb from the cold, barely feeling the sand rasping over his skin, washing away the stubbornly caked on grime and tree sap until his skin felt raw, purified. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back in the water, scraping his fingers through his short hair and scrubbing it until he'd done away with the worst of the oil buildup.

The wolf loped over after Stiles sat up, licked tenderly at the bite around his bicep.

"It doesn't even hurt anymore," Stiles reassured, leaning into the wolf's side. It was true. The cold was doing wonders for the aches in his body, numbing and soothing away the pain. But it was sweet how the wolf still tended him.

When Stiles made no move to get out of the water, the wolf laid down next to him, head on his lap and looking perfectly content despite the cold. Stiles took the opportunity to wash its hair more thoroughly, brushing it with his fingers to get out as much of the dirt as he could.

"There, now you'll be very pretty," Stiles said, patting the wolf's head. He wished he had towels for the both of them, so that he could dry himself—and have something to use for a bandage around his leg—and so that he could fluff the wolf's soft fur.

"Alright, my balls are freezing,” Stiles announced sometime later. “I think it's time to get out."

The wolf barked in agreement and helped Stiles get up, acting as a support as Stiles tried to make stiff muscles work. He collected his walking stick from the bank and set off with the wolf at his side, listening to the sound of nature, when a thought occurred to him.

"Hey, wait. Let's see if we can find some medicinal herbs." After taking a wilderness survival class with his father once, Stiles knew the basics of what to look for. When he found a yarrow plant he harvested as much as he could, and the wolf helped him to sniff out more. By the time they made it back to the den he had an armful, more than enough to make a poultice for his leg.

More coherent than when he woke, Stiles was able to take in more of the cave. It seemed more lived in than the last one, if that term could even be applied. But there was a nest of leaves that Stiles had been sleeping in, and the wolf seemed content to stay there, more relaxed.

"Is this your den?" Stiles asked, setting his plants down in a pile beside the leftover berries. Curious, he searched out the cave, making his way deeper until it was almost impossible to see. He tripped, but something surprisingly soft broke his fall, keeping him from skinning his knees. "What the hell…" Stiles mumbled. He picked up the bundle and carried it back to the nest where his wolf was waiting, sniffing at the yarrow root.

"What's this, huh?" Stiles asked, drawing the wolf's attention. It growled when it saw what he held; a bundle of ruined clothes. Stiles ignored the wolf, shaking out the clothes, finding that they were too shredded to be worn.

"I hope you didn't eat this guy." Stiles was hard pressed to think of another reason why his stuff would be carelessly piled in the back of a wolf's den, though. He elected not to think about it. The mauled shirt could serve as bandages for his leg; any questions he had he could put out of his mind for now. And at least the shirt wasn't bloody. It was probably just some hiker's outfit that was left out to dry and got stolen by a wolf trying to make a softer nest. That was the story Stiles was going to choose to believe, at least.

The wolf came forward, sniffing at the clothes and then whining, pawing at them.

"Hey, stop that. I need to keep this intact," Stiles said, swatting at the wolf's foot, heedless of the large claws. Stiles largely ignored it, draping the shirt over his shoulder and grabbing his stick, limping his way back to the stream once again. After a few minutes the wolf dutifully trudged after him, but it didn't look happy about it.

Down at the stream, Stiles desperately wished for something to bring water back in, but there was nothing. It would be hell once his heat went into full effect; he would have a hard time not succumbing to dehydration. For now, the best he could do was soak the shirt through, knowing he would at least have enough for a poultice, and picked up two large stones to grind the yarrow. Stiles knelt down to drink as much as he could, cupping his hands in the water and bringing them to his lips until he felt queasy from the amount.

"Can you hear my stomach sloshing?" Stiles joked when the wolf butted at his thigh, pushing him back towards the den. Night would soon be falling, and Stiles needed to be back in the den before that happened, safe and protected.

On the way back, Stiles did his best to gather wood for a fire. It was difficult when he only had one arm, but eventually the wolf got the hint and started picking up twigs too. Stiles rewarded him with pets once they returned to the cave.

Once the wolf was sure Stiles was in the nest, and there to stay, he circled the entrance of the cave a few times before going to leave, bounding off into the softening light until he disappeared in the shadows. Stiles used his teeth to rip a strip from the shirt, the sound too loud in the silence of the den.

He set about grinding the yarrow leaves between the two stones, wringing drops of water out slowly until it formed a thick paste. The still-soaked shirt was used to carefully clean away the dried mud from Stiles' wound, making way for him to pack in the poultice, which would help his blood to clot and heal the wound faster. He wrapped the strip around his leg and splint and tied it securely, wincing all the while.

***

It was after dark when the wolf finally came back, after being gone at least an hour. Stiles couldn't be sure, his mind foggy. He writhed with need, the end of another heat cycle still simmering in his blood when he heard the wolf scuffing along. Stiles groaned pitifully, tried to push himself up, but his arms shook too much to hold him steady and he collapsed back down.

The smell of blood was thick and heavy in the air, mouthwatering despite Stiles' usual squeamishness. The berries earlier had served to sate his hunger somewhat, but his body craved something more than the sweet flesh of fruit. He stared in the direction of the caves entrance with half-lidded eyes, blinking slowly until his vision cleared, allowing him to see the wolf dragging in a deer's carcass.

"Good wolf," Stiles praised, voice rasping from his dry throat. The wolf ran to him, leaving the deer on the ground and coming to lay beside Stiles, who buried his face in the soft fur, breathed in the musky scent of him. He'd only been with the wolf a handful of days, but already his instincts recognized the smell as safety and warmth. Stiles just wished they were coming from a human who could pin him down and fuck him the way he so desperately ached for. 

He whined pitifully, curling up on his side. The heat made him delirious. His skin itched like it was crawling with mites, he burned with lust, his teeth ached to sink into flesh to mark, to claim, to  _ be  _ marked and claimed. But he cried, because he didn't really want any of that, didn't want to give up his freedom to whatever alpha the scent of his heat drew.

Behind him the wolf keened and whined, grating on Stiles' ears. "Stop," he quietly pleaded, clenching his hands in his hair to keep from putting them where he really wanted them, unwilling to surrender to his body. He was an omega, but he was more than a slave to his biology.

The wolf paced, Stiles could hear its agitated movements over the stone floor of the cave. Eventually it curled up against Stiles' back, large and warm, a rumbling in its chest almost like a purr. The soft vibrations soothed Stiles somewhat. Not enough to sleep, but it gave him something to focus on other than wanting to claw off his skin to escape the burning itch beneath.

Stiles didn't sleep during the time it took for his fever to break, but he did dream, or perhaps hallucinate would be a better term. His mind wandered, conjuring visions of a handsome alpha that would take care of him. Like his wolf. He would be aloof but kind, attentive to Stiles' needs rather than his own, bring him food and water and keep him warm through the cold nights, curled up around him to make him feel safe.

The wolf stood over Stiles, licking his cheek to wake him from his half-asleep state and nudge him towards the deer, prompting him to eat. His stomach rumbled in agreeance, and Stiles made himself get up, awkwardly shuffling over on his knees, trying to keep from putting too much pressure on his injured leg.

"Did you get this just for me?" Stiles asked with a tired smile, petting the large wolf's flank. He was pretty sure he saw the gleam of a blade earlier, where he found the clothes. Belatedly, he thought maybe there would be other supplies back there too, some hiker leaving behind their belongings after being confronted with the monstrous wolf who called the den home. Stiles pointed towards the shadowy back of the cave. "Go fetch, boy."

Stiles was surprised when the wolf gave him a curious head-tilt, then trotted off to comply. Even more surprised when he came back with the rubber grip between his teeth. "You are one strange wolf, Stiles said in awe as he took the knife.

The hunting knife was small but it got the job done, allowing Stiles to butcher the deer without too much of a struggle. He set the hide aside, could see about doing something with it tomorrow, maybe for bedding. The wolf happily accepted slices of raw meat as Stiles tried to figure out what to do once the creature was haphazardly skinned. He knew he would have to cook all of it if he wanted it to keep, but that was a lot of meat and he wasn't sure what to do with it; it was more than he'd ever attempted at home.

Stiles' stomach growled again and he decided to start with a fire. He could cut pieces off to cook while he figured out the rest.

Not wanting to move around too much, Stiles reached for his walking stick and used it to drag over the pile of firewood from earlier. After arranging the sticks into a neat pile, actually getting the fire started was difficult. The wolf watched from beside him, muzzle resting on its front paws. If he were human, Stiles would say he was laughing at him.

It wasn't until the fire was crackling away that Stiles realized just how cold he was, sitting there naked on the cold stone floor, his body heat slowly leeching out of him. If not for his heat, he would have surely succumbed to hypothermia by now. The light of the fire also meant he could see his breaths ghosting in the frigid air.

He cut thick slices of meat off the deer that he laid over the fire, listening to them pop and hiss as the strips were seared. Not his best culinary achievement, but it would keep him fed for the next few days. While he waited for the meat to cook, Stiles cut off smaller bits that he tossed to the wolf, watching him catch them from the air with a little smile.

"What have you been doing out here all this time?" Stiles wondered out loud. Part of him wondered if the wolf escaped from a sanctuary, or if it was Stiles' heat that had the creature so docile around him, the scent of his pheromones appealing to its basest instincts. His kind were said to evolve from wolves, after all, thousands of years ago, even if now only vestigial traits remained, like the omegan heat. Stiles' smile fell as he threw a larger chunk to the wolf, watching him tear into it with too-large teeth and too much fervor. "Promise you won't eat me after this is over," he whispered.

***

The fire had dulled to embers by morning, strips of meat still slowly cooking. After eating his dinner Stiles carved as much of the meat off the animal as he could and left it to cook on makeshift skewers while he slept. But Stiles was too out of it to care that the wolf hadn't eaten any of it, overtaken by the worst wave of heat yet.

The wolf was snuffling at the top of his head. Stiles ignored him in favor of clenching his legs together to stave off the empty ache inside of him. He scratched at his thighs with blunt nails, fingers sliding wetly through his slick. He tried to ignore it, but with the dream that plagued him all night, there was nothing he could do but coat his fingers in his slick and wrap them around his cock, weeping in relief.

Stiles kept his eyes clenched shut, his face turned against his shoulder as he imagined hands that weren't his own touching him, caressing his body, soothing away the pain of his heat and replacing it with nothing but pleasure.

The faceless alpha in his dreams took his time with him, laying him out on a soft bed off moss and fur, splaying his thighs wide. It was far better than the demeaning pose most alphas would choose to have him in, taking him on his hands and knees like a bitch. This alpha was kinder, stroking the insides of Stiles' quivering thighs with strong, sure hands.

The alpha didn't immediately fuck into Stiles, chasing his own release. Instead he kissed his way down Stiles' body, starting at his neck and sucking marks down his chest until he was keening for more. He cupped the back of Stiles' knee with one hand, holding his injured leg out of the way with care, while the other wrapped around Stiles' cock to tease him.

Stiles thumbed the weeping tip of his length, touch light like he imagined the alpha's would be, waiting until Stiles begged for more before finally stroking him. Stiles whimpered against his shoulder at the slick slide of his fingers. Slowly he reached lower with his other hand, biting his lip as he teased his rim, just his fingertips at first.

Pushing in with two was sinfully easy, Stiles spreading like melting butter for his fingers. It was not nearly what he needed, nothing compared to an alpha's knot, but it still sated something inside him.

He imagined the alpha would open Stiles with care, sucking marks into the pale skin of his thigh, teeth rasping over his flesh with the threat of a bite—but he wouldn't, because he would know Stiles didn't want that, and would respect that choice. He would take Stiles' invitation for the gift it was, honored to partake in his heat but expecting no more, and Stiles would love him for it, would give him anything, everything—

Stiles gasped softly when he pushed in a third finger. The stretch burned but didn't hurt, was closer to what he wanted but wouldn't allow himself to have. Somewhere his wolf was growling; Stiles keened, turned his head, searching for him. The wolf came forward, and Stiles nuzzled his fur, blanketed in the scent of safety. His wolf would protect him, has protected him since the run began, fighting off malicious alphas to defend the vulnerable omega, like something out of a story book. The big bad wolf who protected red riding hood, didn't kill her.

As the heat crested, so too did Stiles' desperation. He stopped teasing, denying himself what he really wanted. He stroked his cock faster, closed his fingers over the head and tried to imagine someone's mouth wrapped around him, the mysterious alpha who haunted his dreams. He fucked himself on his fingers, inelegant, and imagined it was a cock. He breathed in his wolf's scent and pretended it was the pheromone-rich musk of an alpha, coming with a quiet cry.

He was tacky after, sweat and slick and come drying on his skin, not that he could bring himself to care. He brought one filthy hand up to pet his wolf, still hiding away in his warm fur, scent-marking him without thought. Claiming him. The wolf purred for him, a deep rumble like an earthquake, until he fell until a tumultuous sleep again.

The wolf draped itself over Stiles, and in his dreams an alpha welcomed him into his arms.

***

The next morning, Stiles knew, was going to be his last with a clear head until the heat blew over. He needed to properly nest, took his stick and his wolf and ventured out into the forest. They struggled to drag back a fallen log together so that Stiles could strip away the soft spongy moss. After he rolled the log out of the way and they went back for another, until Stiles had a soft bed of moss to cushion his body through the heat. Nothing like his nest at home, made of clean blankets and an abundance of soft pillows, but it smelled like the forest and him and his wolf, and it made him curl with contentment.

Together they gathered a stockpile of food, scavenging for berries to add to his horde until he had enough to, hopefully, last the duration of his heat. Stiles didn’t know how long it would last, having been on suppressants since he presented. All he knew was that it would be another week before his dad came looking for him; he'd survived this long, he could make it a little longer.

***

The days continued on the same as the previous, Stiles too weak to leave the cave more often that not, surrendering to the full throes of his heat. Omegan rights activists sought to change how heats were viewed, making them out to be a pleasurable, liberating season for omegas. Stiles thought it was a sickness, a fever that wouldn't break and for which there was no medicine. When he was coherent enough to think, anyway.

His spells of lucidity were becoming fewer and far between, each one sparked by his wolf. The creature brought him more fruit, urging him to eat when he could. When he became too weak to travel long distances, the wolf would take the mauled shirt between his teeth and run to the stream to soak it in fresh water, bringing it back for Stiles to suckle like a babe to keep the dehydration at bay. It was difficult, for an omega in heat, their body overproducing slick and quickly drying them out. The wolf spent much of his day running back and forth, whining when Stiles wouldn't rouse to drink, pawing at him until he did.

At night, the wolf prowled the perimeter, stalking what he'd claimed as his territory. Once, Stiles thought he heard the throes of a fight, growling and howling and shouting. The wolf smelled like blood when he returned, his smile red and his fur matted down, but no alpha came for Stiles in the night like a villain from a story. He slept easy under the wolf's tender care, aching with an emptiness that wouldn't be filled with berries or fingers or water, a hunger that wouldn't be sated.

***

Stiles couldn't remember the last time he saw the sky. He was delirious with the fever, filled with a sudden desire to be under the stars. His wolf was nowhere to be found; there was nothing to keep him bed as he crawled across the floor, slowly dragging himself out into the forest. There was a chill in the air worse than any other night thus far, and it took him too long to realize that the stars weren't falling, it was snow.

The flakes were delicate, cold kisses that caressed his skin, making him sigh as his nipples pebbled to stiff peaks. Above him the moonlight broke through the trees, hanging heavy and full in the sky. She called out to Stiles, making his body sing as he writhed on the snow-covered ground. His nerves were alight with pleasure, each snowflake sending a cold shock down his spine and straight to his weeping cock.

All around him, he could hear the howls of wolves, echoing and eerie. They all sang in tandem to the moon, hailing her beauty, and Stiles howled along with them, his back arched into an elegant curve.

The moon was at its peak when his wolf came for him, picking him up from the snow with strong arms that cradled Stiles close to a broad chest. Smooth lips brushed against his cheek and Stiles smiled, tucking his nose against the smooth column of his wolf's throat and breathing in the familiar scent of him, warm and safe and so very  _ alpha,  _ no longer hidden under the animal musk. He gasped in pleasure when the alpha laid him out on the soft bed he made, spreading Stiles out in his nest like a feast.

The alpha's grin was sharp with too-long teeth that give his kiss a tantalizing bite when he captured Stiles' lip, worrying the bottom one between his teeth until it was pump and red. Stiles touched the alpha without finesse, his hands clumsy with inexperience as he tried to touch everywhere at once, feeling his way down the contours of his chest and the planes of his back, skirting away from where he most wanted to explore.

The stranger had no such inhibitions, touching him with all the confidence he dreamed of. His hands caressed Stiles' sides and slid between his thighs, not yet parting them. For now, he only teased the tender insides of his flesh, while his free hand skimmed back up to pinch the rosy bud of one nipple. Stiles gasped as he kissed down to the other to suckle it, teasing with his lips and tongue until it was a swollen dusky peak to match the other.

Stiles grabed a fitful of the alpha's long hair, shaggy and soft under his fingertips, and  _ pulled.  _ The alpha bit a mark around Stiles' nipple in return, soothing the shallow mark with a soft kiss when Stiles whimpered at the delicious sting. He could do nothing but writhe under the alpha's touch, entirely at his mercy.

"Please, please, alpha," Stiles pleaded as the alpha kissed down his chest, scruffed his cheeks over his soft belly, so close to where Stiles wanted him most but not giving in just yet. He wanted to drive Stiles out of his mind entirely, have him incapable of coherent thought before he'd fuck him.

The alpha nibbled at the sharp cut of Stiles' hip, making him shudder, and rasped, "Mitch." It sounded like he didn’t use his voice to do anything other than growl, and it made Stiles shudder, slick pooling between his thighs. The scent had the alpha's garnet eyes dilating with lust, a deep growl rumbling in his chest that had Stiles throwing his head back, baring his neck and keening in submission. He  _ wanted  _ to submit to this alpha, wanted to be taken apart and scream his pleasure into the forest until the last orgasm was wrung from his body, finally sating this devilish heat.

The heady scent of arousal clung to their skin, and Stiles was drowning in it by the time Mitch parted his thighs, sliding between them like oil, like he was meant to be there. Stiles looked at him with half-lidded eyes glassy with fever and hazy with arousal, pupils blown until the amber of his iris was only a thin ring around the black.

Mitch ran his hand up from Stiles' hip to his chest, feeling Stiles' heart beat a rabbit's pace beneath his palm. It jumped when he bent down and sucked Stiles' cock into his mouth down to the root, making him cry out. Stiles pulled harshly at his hair, but this time there was no chiding bite, just the faintest scrape of teeth along his overheated flesh as Mitch slowly pulled back, tongue dragging along the underside of Stiles' length until he was sobbing from the pleasure.

He was nearly cross-eyed by the time he felt Mitch prodding at his slick entrance, testing the resistance of his rim before slowly pushing past with two fingers. Stiles spread his legs wider, opening himself to more as Mitch messily sucked him off, holding Stiles down with the length of his arm down Stiles' chest, hand circled loosely around Stiles' throat when his writing became too much.

Stiles pulled at Mitch's hair, pushing him away and pulling him closer, unable to decide what he wanted more, until Mitch decided for him. He pulled his fingers out of Stiles' sopping hole and used the excess slick to wet his cock, Stiles watching all the while with wide-eyes filled with want. Mitch held his cock against Stiles' entrance, letting him feel its girth, and held him on the edge of what he desired most. Just as it was on the tip of his tongue to beg, Mitch thrust into his willing heat.

It was a slow push. Mitch made Stiles feel every inch, the omega watching between them with wide eyes as Mitch slowly sank in to the hilt. The stretch ached perfectly. Stiles was panting before Mitch was even fully seated inside him, barely able to keep his eyes open by the time he was.

Mitch started slow, holding Stiles' injured leg to keep from jostling it, pressing a kiss to the knee as he slowly pulled out. Stiles wanted to weep for joy when the second push was just as intense as the first, forcing his body to spread open all over again. It was torturous, the best kind of agony, burning him up inside.

Stiles reached up for his alpha, wrapped his arms around his shoulders and held him close, cradling him with his body as he was slowly fucked. He buried his face against his shoulder, biting into the tendon of his neck while Mitch pressed sweet kisses to his, dragging his tongue up the pale column of his throat to lap up the salt of his sweat.

"Faster," Stiles whispered, his heel digging into the back of Mitch's thigh, feeling the muscle shift with each slow thrust.

His desperate demand amused the alpha but he was quick to comply, holding Stiles' hip as he drove into him with shorter, sharp thrusts that punched the breath out of him, each one making him gasp, high and needy. The alpha silenced him with a kiss, inelegant as their tongue curled together. Stiles panted and keened into his mouth without finesse, inexperienced, but the man on top of him didn't seem to mind in the least. He wrapped his arm under Stiles, holding his lower back and pulling him up, forcing his spine into an arch, allowing him to thrust deeper. Stiles almost screamed from the new angle, throwing his head back.

The fire had been rekindled at some point in the night, filling the den with warmth and light, the shadows dancing dramatically over their entwined bodies, flames gleaming on sweat-slick skin. The air was heavy and thick with the scent of them in a way it had never been before. It would choke Stiles if he didn't crave it. Instead he breathed in heavy lungfuls of it until he was dizzy, clinging to his alpha with all the strength he had left.

Mitch bit marks into Stiles' vulnerable throat, leaving bruises down to his shoulder. The bite of his fangs added a dangers air to their coupling; it would be so easy for Mitch to sink his teeth in deep, to simply take what he wanted like any other alpha would, pin Stiles down and claim him regardless of what the omega had to say about it. For weeks that thought has terrified Stiles. It fueled his desperation to escape, to wander so far from the mating grounds that his only hope of survival was his wolf, his alpha.

But now, with Mitch panting and growling into his skin, chasing his own pleasure without forsaking Stiles', he burned with desire for the alpha to claim him as a true mate would. He wanted the pain of the bite, the scar he would bear for the rest of his life. He wanted to feel Mitch's seed in his body, and he wanted to taste the alpha's blood in his mouth like fine wine as he laid his own mark into his tanned skin.

Mitch growled, harsh and subhuman. The sound resonated through Stiles, and he looked up to meet his alpha's eyes, taking in the strange color of them—brown and garnet, like half-dried blood. Claws scraped down his back, scoring lines from his shoulder blade to hip that had Stiles arching up into Mitch. The alpha sat back on his haunches and pulled Stiles up until he was not quite riding him, his weight still supported by Mitch because of his injured leg. Stiles' pressed their foreheads together, eyes locked, and felt a connection to him unlike anything he'd had with anyone else. It could only be compared to what he thought soulmates would feel like, those born with another who would so perfectly compliment, their souls would sing out when ear each other.

Stiles had never believed in the concept of mates, thought it was a romanticized idea to keep omegas docile. But being so completely wrapped up in Mitch, feeling his cock move inside him, drunk on the heady perfume of their mixed scents, he started to believe. There was no other explanation for how someone could feel so perfect with him.

Stiles' breaths were coming in stuttered gasps as he felt Mitch's knot begin to swell at the base, catching on his rim. Mitch pressed him down into the nest again, slowing his thrusts into a filthy grind, barely pulling out of Stiles at all. The new position allowed him to stroke Stiles' cock, overloading him with pleasure until he screamed into the forest, come striping his chest.

The knot swelled inside him until it was too big to pull out, locking them together. Stiles locked around it on instinct, his body clenching around Mitch to milk his release, and he howled like a wolf as he painted Stiles' insides with his seed, still grinding into him to sow it deep.

After, they lay together, panting in the afterglow. Mitch kissed the bruises on Stiles' lips, far more delicate than a brutish alpha ought to be, and Stiles combed his fingers through Mitch's sweat damp hair, brushing through the snags.

Mitch growled playfully when Stiles' fingers caught on a particularly stubborn tangle, but dissolved into a content purr as Stiles scratched his scalp and worked out the tangle. He snuggled the alpha close, clenching around the fullness of his knot, and felt a little like weeping. Aftershocks of pleasure still coursed through him like a livewire, and there was nothing he wouldn't give to stay like this forever, with his sweet alpha buried knot-deep inside of him, draped over him like a heavy blanket.

Stiles purred in contentment, draping his arms around Mitch's shoulder's and burying his nose in his hair, sighing. Maybe riding out his heat in this cave wouldn’t be so bad after all. 

**Author's Note:**

> Kind of an abrupt ending, I know. I wrote this last November and I wrote the entire thing in one night, and then basically didn't touch it again aside from correcting some typos here and there. I meant to have a lot more to this story but tbh It feels kind of complete here? I might come back and write the rest as a sequel if anyone is interested, where Stiles gets rescued by his dad, you find out who the alpha in the beginning was, learn more about Mitch, etc. 
> 
> I've been battling myself for weeks because I wrote this as Stitch, but I've been sorely tempted to change it to either Sterek or Steter because I need that validation. That said, if you liked this story please tell me so! Also help with the tags would be great, since I'm notoriously bad at those!
> 
> Edit 8/12/19: So. I may actually write that sequel after all! I've got some ideas floating around and I think I have something that could work. it may even turn into a little trilogy of short works after this one, but no promises. Would anyone be interested in seeing more from this verse?


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